but not forgotten
by A.A. Pessimal
Summary: A spin-off from "Doppelgangers". Lord Downey has a problem with a technically-minded Assassin. Something thought dead is stirring again...


Lord Downey sat back in his chair in the Master's Office, trying to compose himself and look suitably grave and magisterial for his next appointment. He consulted the reports in front of him, especially the short note one from the Palace that simply said _I understood there was to be no repetition,_ and wondered how to approach the interview.

He was rather concerned he might have to discreetly request that somebody was inhumed, and he considered this to be a waste of potential. As well as somewhat unseemly, as the potential inhumee was a fully qualified and licenced Assassin, and who was therefore one of the Guild family. You didn't annul your own people without very good reason, and Downey was somewhat concerned that sufficient reasons – one in particular – were accumulating.

Yet the Assassin in question had such a fertile technical brain and had also accumulated a reputation for problem-solving for other members of the Guild faculty. To keep his mind away from dangerous areas of investigation, Downey had seconded him to the Guild of Alchemists for a year in the interests of mutual understanding and co-operation between Guilds. He'd also, if he were honest, rather hoped that constant exposure to dangerous chemical fumes would have scrambled the young man's mind and cluttered his otherwise crystal-clear thoughts.

Downey sighed. No such luck: on first viewing the dangerous and health-threatening clutter of the alchemy labs, the young man had gone away, sketched out an idea, taken it to the Guild of Artificers, and consulted the Guild of Plumbers for technology that could be adapted. He'd then talked Sendivoge and the Alchemists' Council into installing a prototype…. _Fume cupboard_…. allowing research into dangerous chemical reactions to take place behind inch-thick glass, with any fumes and smoke happening inside a sealed compartment which was otherwise transparent, so that all details of the experiment could be safely observed. A pump then evacuated the noxious fumes to a vent on the roof of the building, where they could, un-noticed, join the general Ankh-Morpork miasma. Sendivoge and Silverfish had been skeptical at first, but had come to see the value of being able to perform reactions involving mercury and prussic acid without either frying their brains or dropping dead on the spot. The _fume cupboard_ had then been taken up as standard in all labs: the Assassins' Guild had also seen the advantages of installing them in the Poisons and Exothermic Alchemy departments, as it cut the wastage of young students and lab assistants through over-confidence and carelessness.

(Although there was also a report on his desk from Alice Band, concerning the loss of a student while Edificeering on the Alchemists' Guild roof: the student had got too close to the fume chamber's outlet vent, unfortunately, and Miss Band, recognising the signs of cyanide poisoning, had hurriedly evacuated the roof-top with the rest of her class). _And he never patented his idea, _thought Downey, shaking his head at the other-worldliness of young Assassins these days.

No, there was no doubt that the Honourable Arthur Clevedon Clarke had a very clever mind indeed. Downey's problem boiled down to preventing it from travelling down one particular route. He looked at the plans and drawings on his desk and winced.

_We suppressed it the first time. Then it escaped and drove De'Ath mad. The contagion passed to poor old Cruces. It nearly brought the Guild crashing down. We lost face and prestige and power. The City Watch gained the power we lost. Carrot buried it in a very secure place and we all thought we'd seen the last of it. Yet it's emerging again, through Clarke. Even if I'm forced to inhume him to keep it buried, where will it emerge next? _

There was a knock on the door.

"Ah, Clarke. Take a seat. Sherry? Good. Almond slice? No? Very wise. Too much sweet stuff can be bad for your health."

"Thank you, sir" said Clarke, settling the two large boxes beside his chair and sitting. "You wanted to see me?"

"Yes. I think I rather did."

Downey paused and studied the young Assassin sitting opposite him. Tall and spare with floppy hair, a lock of which kept falling over his forehead, he looked excited and eager to please, like a large loping hunting dog. His eyes betrayed a subdued excitement and curiosity with the world around him, an eagerness to make sense of things, find out how they worked, improve on them.

"Let's review a few of the things you've devised since you've been here, shall we?" Downey started ticking them off on his fingers.

"Miss Smith-Rhodes wanted a way of humanely incapacitating, rather than annulling, large fierce animals, so that her nature studies class could get close up, for instance, to a mountain lioness, without the risk of the nature they were studying suddenly biting a student's head off. You devised a means of delivering a dose of a tranquilizing drug from a safe distance via a modified crossbow."

"Yes, sir. The tricky thing was getting the bowstring tension just so, so that the bolt barely pierces the skin rather than penetrating for several inches, delivering a killing blow. Then the bolt has to stay lodged to allow the sedative to drain into the animal's body".

"And you succeeded so well that your device has been taken up by the Rimwards Howondaland government, for use in their national parks and wildlife reserves. Miss Smith-Rhodes used her influence to get it patented in your name, I believe?"

"She said at home they used to use natives who'd deliver the sedative by hand or by blowpipe, and then run _really fast_ afterwards. Apparently they were running out of natives who were willing to stick needles in lions and elephants, so she showed her uncle and a few others my idea. I'm jolly pleased she patented it, as it means I get money coming in to do other things with. The income furthers my research."

"No doubt. And this research paper on the decay rate of trans-silicon isotopes in geological strata, with particular reference to metamorphorical silicon. I asked Miss Band to translate that for me, and she said you'd hit on a jolly good idea for precisely dating archaeological artefacts to within a year either side. The Guild of Archaeologists is apparently very excited indeed about a new revolutionary technique."

"It occurred to me, sir, that once metamorphorical silicon is detached from the living troll who makes it, it decays with extraordinary precision into ordinary silicon, with a half-life of 1236.4 Disc years. Simply count the number of decay cycles – even normal silicon rock has a small percentage of the metamorphorical isotope – and you've given your artefact an age. I explained this to Miss Band over Dinner one night, and at first I thought I was boring her, as she went very quiet for five minutes and didn't say a thing. The she dragged me off to talk to some other archaeologists, and it got very interesting after that…"

"Yes. _**Most**_ women have a low boredom threshold for technical and scientific talk" Downey agreed. "The ones we employ here, on the other hand… I also believe that when Madame Deux-Ėpées teased you about creating a perfectly rust-proof tensile steel suitable for armaments, you quite placidly replied you could think of at least three ways of doing it."

"Very easy, sir. At the micromolecular level, rusting begins in micropits in the surface of the steel, so small that not even our most powerful microscopes can see them. Make the surface of the steel as smooth, _more_ smooth than is so far humanly possible, and the rust has nowhere to establish a foothold. A useful way of doing this is a regular surface arrangement of iron, carbon and chromium atoms, which added in the right proportions during the sword-smithing process creates a mirror-smooth finish…"

"Indeed." said Downey. He steepled his fingers. "You really are something of a Rennaissance Man, mr Clarke."

_Vetinari has Leonard of Quirm hidden away in a safe location somewhere and uses him as his scientific advisor. Could it be that I have another Leonard here, to nurture and protect and keep safe? But then, Leonard created…._

"I believe you're currently employed as a teaching assistant, Mr Clarke. Mainly in Alchemy and Metalwork, but you'll assist where you're asked in other classes."

"Domestic Science is jolly interesting, sir" Clarke volunteered. "Especially the way Miss Sanderson-Reeves teaches it."

"Ah yes. _The inhumation potential inherent in even the meanest kitchen." _Downey recited, as if he were quoting ."_And if all else fails you will at least learn to cook for yourself in circumstances where there are no servants available to cook for you."_

"But she still won't let you try out your idea for a… _macrowave oven_…. in her classroom, I notice."

"It would revolutionise mass catering, sir. An oven capable of cooking an entire roast to perfection within three minutes."

"Employing a controlled exothermic reaction involving powdered Agatean fireclay and an exotic acid. She is perhaps concerned that the _wave_ is so _macro_ that it takes out the entire classroom. Perhaps best left at the theoretical stage for now, hmmm? " Downey smiled.

"But the real reason for my calling you here today. I'm quite concerned, mr Clarke. Could you please explain to me your growing interest in things Agatean?"

"Well, sir, as you know, the Agatean Empire is quite considerably ahead of us in several specialized areas. In recent years, the Dark Council has acknowledged this by approving the establishment of a martial arts _dojo_ within the Guild, together with fully accredited _sensai_ on loan from the Empire. I understand the Agatean Ambassador has approved of the Guild endowing a visiting Professor of Ninjitsu Studies, and has in fact sent his approved candidate to you. My own area of study lies in exothermic alchemy, as practiced in certain specialized areas within the Empire. If you'll recall, I put in a proposal for paid study leave…"

"Denied!" Downey said, promptly. **(1)** "But I understand you have a particular interest in the _Barking Dogs_?"

"Yes, sir, They're a particularly fine application of the principles of exothermic alchemy, and I understand that even now, the Patrician has permitted limited experimentation with their application as a military weapon. I was pleased to be able to attend the demonstration of the experimental devices created by the Guild of Artificers as this Guild's accredited representative…"

"Yes. I read your report with interest."

_It's not just weapons parity with Agatea that he wants. Vetinari was briefly deposed by Lord Rust, who had the brains to back up his request that the Patrician stood down in his favour, by telling him his Regiments were deployed at strategic locations in the City. Purely on manoeuvres, you understand, Havelock? It's telling that Vetinari gave the contract for cannon to the Guild of Artificers to raise a Corps of Royal Artillery, and not to Eorle or Selachii or Venturi, or any of the usual people who assume general's rank in time of trouble. Instead, he brought in Army officers he can personally trust, to oversee the project and look into military applications. And to command the Dogs in his name, Just in case he needs to trump several conventional Regiments with a weapon that can blow them away like dead leaves. Clarke just enthused on the weaponry. I have to see the deeper implications. And we're about to raise the deepest one of all._

"And were you able to provide practical assistance to the Artificers?" Downey inquired, keeping his voice level.

"Oh, yes, sir! I showed them there are alternatives to Alchemists' Black Powder Number One as a propulsive chemical. My own experiments with glycerine and sweet spirits of nitre have created an exothermic reagent with ten times the power of black powder. We discovered that if the resultant rather unstable liquid is soaked into cotton, it becomes stable for storage and transportation and can be packed behind the propelled ball, inside the barrel of the Dog, where it will all ignite and combust, propelling a stone or lead ball with great force. In fact, sir, we have devised a method of getting perfectly spherical lead shot of various sizes…"

Downey let the excited voice chatter past him. He had a horrible idea where this was leading and why Vetinari had sent a polite note reminding him of an agreement the Guild had fairly recently entered into.

"… and the reaction of toluene with sweet spirits of nitre promises an even more potent exothermic reaction . One which can be controlled and measured for accuracy of shot, governed by a few fairly simple mathematical principles."

Downey raised a hand.

"Talk to me about _miniaturization_" he said. "I believe you've bought models."

"Yes, sir" said Clarke, opening a box.

"Completely privately, sir, it occurred to me that given more powerful and reliable exothermic reagents, the principle of the Barking Dog might be refined into a smaller, more compact, hand-held device… such as this."

He brought out a thing which to Downey's eyes was horribly, sickeningly, familiar.

"I modified a pistol crossbow, sir. It has a scaled-down barking dog built onto it. As with the prototype, it loads from the muzzle, and the _round_ – that is, the shaped spherical lead ball – is tamped down on top of the charge with the ramrod. A wad of paper is then inserted to save the embarrassment of the _round_ rolling back out of the barrel. The _triggering_ device here sparks a tiny flame off the built-in flint which in its turn ignites the exothermic reagent in the chamber. The heat and force of the reaction drives the _round_ out at great speed and force, and it can be aimed with some accuracy to a distance of seventy-five yards."

Downey gloomily turned the weapon over in his hands. He lifted, sighted and aimed it. He tried to ignore a subliminal voice that whispered, seductively, _**Well hello! I'm back! **_

"This is a larger version, sir, with a _rifled_ barrel where grooves have been engraved inside the barrel to cause the _round_ to spin in flight. The shaped stock fits to the shoulder, the firing principle is the same, and aim is achieved by lining up the foresight, _here_, with the backsight, _here_. At present they're only one-shot weapons and take time to reload in between shots, but I'm thinking through some ideas to make them into repeaters, capable of firing several shots consecutively before reloading is necessary. One idea involves bringing the charge, wadding and round together as a single unit, loaded from the breech rather than the barrel. Of course, this calls for a greater degree of technical sophistication and manufacturing capacity, but I'm sure this is achievable…"

_**We're back. There are more than one of us this time. Pick me up. Use me. Try me. **_

"I consider these weapons would be a massive step forward for the profession of Assassination, sir."

Downey took a deep breath.

"Mr Clarke… Arthur. I cannot let you do this. I have to tell you, most seriously, that any further investigation along these lines will have serious consequences. On behalf of the Dark Council, I have to ask…no, demand… that these things are confiscated and taken into Guild custody."

Downey felt like he'd just kicked a puppy. He sighed.

"Look, put them back in the boxes. Let me tell you of a time, not so very long ago…"

Downey told the story. Of De'Ath. Of Cruces. Of the hapless dead clown. Of the assassination attempt on Vetinari and the half-baked plot to enthrone a King. Of how Vimes and the Watch had faced down the Guild and won. Of the consequent loss of face and prestige. And above all, of the insidious Gonne.

"So you see, I have to stop it now. The alternative is inhuming you. And your mind is too valuable an asset to lose. _No more Gonnes, Arthur. _I'm serious."

There was an unhappy pause in the office.

"Look, I've got something for you that might compensate. Not so long ago I was at the University. I saw the Roundworld project in action**.**** (3)** You've heard of it?"

"An entire universe in a glass tank? Yes, sir."

"good. You know an entore human race lives on a doomed planet?"

"And their destiny is to get off it and escape to the stars in spaceships? Sounds frightfully interesting, sir."

"Glad you think that way. I had a silly, idle, thought about that. That wherever there's intelligent life, there will be a need for Assassins. If in the future life leaves the Discworld, Assassins will leave with it. We'll be needed, Arthur, wherever life goes and wherever sophisticated civilizations arise. Roundworld gave me an insight into the far future of this Guild, unguessable years from now. I'd rather like you to investigate space travel further. I believe you have the mind for it."

Arthur Clevedon Clarke looked visibly cheered up and compensated for the loss of his _gonne_s.

"A very long-term project, you mean, sir?"

"Which is why I'm seconding you to the University. This is a letter of introduction to Archchancellor Ridcully requesting thatr he accept you as the accredited Assassins' Guild representative on the Roundworld project. I've already spoken to Professor Stibbons about you, and he agrees you are the sort of mind he thinks would be of great benefit to the Project. He looks forward to meeting you. Your brief is to research all aspects of space travel and report back to me in oooh, two years' time. Let's see, it's 1999 now…"

"So I come back to you in 2001, sir"

For some reason, it felt oddly appropriate.

"And this is your University researcher's badge."

"Made out to Mr. Arthur C. Clarke, I see. Thank you sir!"

"_**No more gonnes**_, Arthur. I want that to be clearly understood."

"Understood, sir"

Dismissed, Clarke left the office. Downey summoned two porters to move the _gonnes_ down to the museum and out of his sight. Away from their seductive whispers, he breathed with relief. He hoped history was not repeating itself… again… and Clarke was safe now, and his unique brain castled into safety as a counter-weight to Vetinari's possession of Leonard of Quirm. Good.

* * *

**(1)** For across the Multiverse, a universal law is that fewer things are harder to achieve in the academic world than an expenses-paid freebie **(2)** to an exotic location. Especially one your Head of Department can't go on.

**(2)** Sorry, we meant to type "field study governed by rigorous academical standards which will benefit the pool of knowledge available to all mankind".

**(3)** See my short novella _**Doppelgangers. **_


End file.
